


how we were

by tozierhozier (Gwennis)



Series: the nicotine trilogy [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Slow Burn, Underage Smoking, honestly richie is an asshole but he's a sad asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwennis/pseuds/tozierhozier
Summary: how we were-richie tozier isn't happy. he has things that make him happy; a new pack of winston's, letting his fingers dance over the keys of henry bowers' piano, the soft echo of queen, and the smell of beverly marsh's hair. it was them against the world, and that was something he could live with.eddie kaspbrak finds his home with the losers. bill, ben, stan, mike, and beverly were all eddie needed, all he ever wanted. yet, there's just a hole in his heart that hovers. he can't help it that a certain curly-haired boy with a trashy mouth fills the void, even if it's just for a while.a story about love and loss and wishing to have never loved at all.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Henry Bowers/Patrick Hockstetter, Henry Bowers/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Original Female Character(s)
Series: the nicotine trilogy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703083
Comments: 25
Kudos: 30





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everyone who thinks i'm writing about them](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=everyone+who+thinks+i%27m+writing+about+them).



**"a poet is a nightingale, who sits in the darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds."**  
**— percy bysshe shelley**  
  
  
  


"get back here!"

the year was 1989, henry bowers and richie tozier were running through the darkened streets of derry, hearts pounding erratically and breaths leaving their lips in short, hot pants. richie's lungs ached, but he pushed himself faster to keep up with henry's long strides. the bowers boy had richie's hand grasped firmly in his own, fingers locked together as he pulled him down the abandoned small-town streets and away from the blaring siren of the police officers currently in pursuit of the pair.

_one, two, three.._

henry's head kept glancing side to side, looking for somewhere to hide while richie eyed the officers that were gaining on them from behind. "hen.." his voice was quiet, but he knew henry heard him. henry always listened to him. "i know, rich." he was out of breath, but he still managed to pull the younger boy into a shadowed alleyway.

_four, five, six.._

richie was sweating, breath heaving but he bit his lip until he drew blood to keep in the hollowed gasps leaving his lips. henry had him cornered up against the cold brick wall behind his back, so close he could smell the cigarette smell that clung to him. the sirens blared closer and the pounding of richie's erratic heartbeat kicked into overdrive. he laid his head on henry's chest, ear down so he could listen to the soothing drum in his ribs and pretend that they weren't there. henry huffed in surprise, but didn't move the boy's head, looking down at him as if he'd strung the stars. richie knew henry wouldn't let him do this in front of his other friends, henry wasn't henry with them.

_seven, eight, nine.._

slowly, the echo of the police siren began to fade away. richie hadn't even noticed the cruiser had passed where the pair was hidden in the shadows of the alleyway. he didn't move his head until the echoes became whispers and the whispers became silence. henry did not move a muscle the entire time.

_ten._

richie slowly lifted his head and ignored the crick that had taken up residence in his neck. henry's eyes immediately fell to his lips and his eyebrows drew together in concern. he brought his fingers down to brush across richie's lips, but his touch wasn't gentle and it made richie wince. "we're okay." henry's voice was gruff, but his touch against richie's skin made him feel as if he wasn't quite so alone.

"we are not doing that again. no way, you crazy fuck." henry has dragged richie to the train tracks, covered in weeds and broken bottles, all for the simple american pleasure of tarnishing the sides of train cars. honestly, richie wasn't very interested in much more illegal activity other than snatching cigarettes from the gas station. even then, he switched that duty off every week with beverly anyway.

henry let out a small huff of laughter, pushing richie back off of him a few feet away. "i didn't see you complaining when you were scaling down the side of your house, tozier." richie tensed. of course he didn't complain, anywhere away from that house was better than being in it. henry must have noticed, because his eyes softened and his lips parted to say something but; _no, no, no._ richie didn't want his pity, not his, not henry's.

"henry," he licked his lips, tasting the bitter taste of iron, "what about..?" he didn't need to say anything else. _they probably work with them. my dad will find out. he'll kill me. your's will kill you. i'm scared, hen._ the silence wrapped around the boys, eyes locked on one another and for a moment richie felt his heart skip a beat. yet, henry broke the contact, furrowing his brows and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"whatever, tozier. i'll deal with it. i always do." he turned and moved toward the shadowed entrance of the alleyway. now, richie's heart clenched in an all new way, henry was leaving. henry was leaving _him._ behind richie's eyes flashed the rough caress of henry's hands against his face, the callous feel of their lips against one another's. the summer-soaked memory of henry's switchblade carving out their initials into the kissing bridge; and richie knew he couldn't let him go.

_one, two.._

"henry!" he called, stumbling after him on awkwardly long legs felt miles ahead of the rest of his body. "henry," he called again, falling in step beside the older boy and grabbing onto his arm, "i'm sorry. i know it's scary and-" he was cut off, thrown back by the force of the shove that henry supplies upon his shoulders. richie stumbled back, unable to catch himself before tripping and falling back onto his hands, the choppy gravel digging into the flesh of his palms. richie winced.

_three, four.._

"don't say you're sorry, you're not sorry," henry spit out, rounding on richie and towering over him with a venomous glint in his eyes, "i'm _not_ scared, richie. i'm not. i'm not scared." his voice trembled and he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than the bleeding boy beneath him, but he still glared down at him with as much malice as he could muster. "you're the one that's scared." his words were shaky, but he licked his lips and spun on his heel, trudging haphazardly down the dark streets of derry.

_five.._

richie's blood pounded in his ears and he felt a stinging warmth flood his palms as he kept them pressed into the gravel. he kept his eyes locked on henry's retreating form until all that could be seen was the faint shadow of the bowers boy slipping past the few and far between streetlights. he licked his lips again, the taste of iron subdued this time and all richie could muster was a soft, "i'm always scared," in response to the silence. 

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

richie wandered the empty streets aimlessly, blood dripping down his fingertips from the wounds to his palms, but he didn't seem to even feel the sting. the sun was slowly peaking up from the horizon, signaling the nearing end of the children of derry's summer vacation. they only had a week left. a week of richie's father being too preoccupied with the free, troublesome kids to notice that he was rarely ever at home. once school started, it would all get worse. his father, along with henry's, would have more free-time to notice how their sons seemed to slip away. richie's father would ruin everything.

richie's feet aches and the coldness clinging to the morning air bit at his already flushed cheeks. the town had not quite awoken, shutters were still shut tight and lights not turned on. the image held resemblance to that of a ghost town. though, richie supposed that derry was almost like a ghost town, one that had harbored only torment.

the familiar roll of tires down the uneven gravel road had richie's shoulders tensing and breath catching in his throat. he turned his head, eyes flashing toward the car that was rolling up slowly on him from behind. the car was a police cruiser, and the man behind the wheel was richie tozier's father.

richie's hands shook, but he curled his fingers up into fists in a vain attempt to prevent the trembling from spreading to his entire body. he wished he could have ran, slipped away with the wind where no one would ever find him. or maybe a shining light would descend from the clouds and save richie from all of the hurt the world had to offer him. but richie wasn't swept away with the wind or drawn in by light, instead, he took one shaky step after another to the passenger side of his father's cruiser.

the most terrifying aspect of wentworth tozier was not the way he yelled, or the way he left bruises, and most definitely not the void that shown in his eyes as he did such things. it was the words. the little wisps that slipped past his grimaced lips when talking to his only son. that was what richie found most crushing, most devastating.

when richie first entered the cruiser, nothing was said. mr. tozier simply pulled off the side of the road and drove toward wherever the streets took him. richie didn't even know if they would end up at the tozier residence. however, he did eventually acknowledge richie, and as much as richie built himself up to hear the words of distaste, within seconds all of his walls came crashing down.

"imagine my disgust," his father began, tone clipped and calm, but richie tensed anyway, "when i received a call about _you—" he didn't say my son,_ "—and bowers' boy desecrating a train car at four in the morning." richie said nothing, but he held his bleeding hands tightly in his lap. "i would have thought that you weren't stupid enough to embarrass me like that, boy." richie dug his nails into the already wounded flesh, wincing. "yet, you continue to surprise me. thank god your mother didn't have to live to see what a fucking disappointment her son had become."

richie tuned out a lot of his father's words after that. he only caught a few the rest of the ride.

"ungrateful." _one.._

"worthless." _two.._

"piece of shit." _three.._

richie kept counting, over and over again, one to ten, one to ten. the trembling had caught up with the rest of his body by now, but it seemed that his father had caught on that richie had not been listening very closely, because the boy was drawn out of this thoughts by rough, calloused hands gripping his chin in a painful grasp.

the car had stopped, but richie hadn't even noticed. he didn't recognize where they were, somewhere surrounded by trees, as far as he could tell. the grip against his chin hurt, but he didn't dare flinch or rip away, it would only make it worse. "you good for nothing ungrateful boy," his father hissed, spit hitting his cheeks like tiny pinpricks, "you can't even fucking listen, can you? i provide you with food, shelter, the clothes on your back and you can't even give me the simple curtesy of listening to me when i talk to you?" the hand left his chin to instead crash across richie's cheek with a resounding slap filling the tenseness of the car. fuck, it hurt, his father still wore his wedding ring, and it dug deep into richie's skin. his father was never careful about leaving marks, he knew richie would lie about them anyway.

"it should have been you, you hear me? you should be buried in the fucking ground and not her."

richie's cheek throbbed the whole way to their house, but he couldn't tell if the warmth moving down his cheek was blood or the tears welling in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you would like to read this work on wattpad, (including the playlist not pictured here), feel free to copy and paste this link!  
> https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/217370844-how-we-were-✰-reddie
> 
> ps, there’s NO smut in this book because these characters are CHILDREN. i will not sexualize 13/14 year olds considering they have so much growth to go through on their on before they develop anything sexual with one another. consent is sexy!


	2. two

**"to love beauty is to see light."**   
**— victor hugo**   
  
  
  


if richie closed his eyes and thought hard enough, he could almost remember how it felt to have his mother's fingers run through his hair. her hands were kind—gentle—something richie had not experienced in a long time. beverly wasn't gentle with him. henry wasn't soft and kind. maggie tozier was everything, she was perfection.

beverly marsh laid next to richie on his creaky bed, a marlboro cigarette delicately balanced between her pointer and middle fingers. she brought the cigarette to her lips, inhaling silently and letting it fall back to her side. her fiery hair was splayed across his shoulder, her cheek lightly resting against the rigid surface of his collarbone. richie didn't know how she laid like that, he couldn't have been even remotely comfortable. he considered asking bev to run her fingers through his hair. he didn't.

beverly glanced up at him through her dark lashes, the splash of freckles spread across her cheeks glinting in the moonlight. she offered him her cigarette, but he shook his head even though his body burned for a quick drag. "sorry bev," he hummed, bringing up his free arm to elevate his head, "i don't smoke that shit." she scoffed, shrugging one shoulder and inhaling another puff of nicotine. "your loss," she rolled her eyes, shifting over onto her elbows to look up at him, "that's the last time i share with you."

richie's heart clenched. he knew she wasn't serious—knew she was only teasing, but it still hurt hearing her say something with such finality. his throat constricted but he coughed to clear it.

_one, two, three.._

"whatever you say, marsh." he choked, but if beverly noticed, she didn't say anything. instead, she eyed him, inhaling another swift drag and bringing her face up closer to his.

their lips brushed against one another's and richie's heart sped up. he loved beverly marsh. he loved the way her wild hair smelled of cigarettes and shampoo. he loved the way her clothes were rumpled and torn, just like his. he loved the way she laughed, putting everything forward and hiding nothing. his heart beat for her, but he was okay with that. next to henry, beverly was his best friend, one of his only friends.

beverly tapped richie's wrist with her pinkie and he parted his lips, allowing the cool taste of smoke to fill his mouth as he breathed her in. she was ethereal. bev pulled away and locked their eyes together, a small smirk spread across her lips. she exhaled, a small thread of smoke falling from her parted lips. richie kept their eyes locked, his tongue escaping to wet his lips as their shared smoke tumbled from his mouth. "you're something, beverly marsh." she just smiled at him.

beverly stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of her clothes and walking over to the open window with her hands on her hips. the moonlight was peeking through onto the floor and she turned to him. she bent down, pulling on her tattered shoes, not bothering to tie the laces. "well, c'mon rich," she threw one leg over the windowsill, long locks falling over her shoulder as she smirked mischievously, "let's go on an adventure."

richie didn't hesitate to follow her. his father worked nights, mostly, richie would be at school before the man ever came home. considering he never took his converse off, the worn shoes musing the bed as he stood up. the pair slipped through the window and scaled slowly down the roof. in all honesty, the friends could have escaped through the front door, but his father find out. wentworth tozier was perceptive, diligent with details, and that was the problem. he cared too much and too little all at once, especially were richie was concerned.

they hit the dampened grass below richie's window, as it had rained several hours before. the wounds across his palms had since settled down within the week, but they still ached when he caught himself on the ground. however, richie didn't let out more than a wince before he was following behind beverly marsh like a lost puppy. she probably thought him pathetic, she had other friends, why hang out with him? she knew of his friendship with henry, the bully of her own friends, but she never said anything, why?

beverly moved to the side of the house, where overgrown grass was slowly creeping up the wall and bent down, snatching something hidden behind the brush and shoving it under her arm. it was obvious she was not trying to hide the object, but it didn't matter much anyway, the object was clumsily wrapped in a mess of brown paper and masking tape. richie couldn't tell what it was regardless.

"what's in the bag, bev?" he hummed, throwing an arm around her shoulders as she led him off into the darkness. her freckled lips drew up in a smirk and she just threw her free arm around his waist and rested her temple against his shoulder. "it's a secret." her breath brushed against richie's neck and he shivered, scrunching up his nose and eyeing her with mock disgust. "brush your teeth every now again, marsh. sucking that much dick will make your breath smell bad."

beverly rolled her eyes, but a small smile passed her lips as a soft "beep beep, rich," rolled off of her tongue. richie clamped his lips shut, silencing whatever word vomit would have fallen from his lips in favor of fidgety silence. he never knew if she wanted him to be completely silent or just stop being.. him. he just grinned through the phantom pain of his thoughts, like thousands of little knives carving into his skin.

richie was so swept away into his thoughts he hadn't even realized that the pair had found their way to the steep top of the cliff that led to water leaping against the sand down below. no one could _pay_ richie to get in that water, much less jump off the cliff, so when bev led him up to edge, he tensed.

she moved forward several feet before she realized that richie had stopped in his tracks, eyes wide and fists clenched at his sides. beverly just rolled her eyes, a small smile pulling up the corner of her lip as she looked back at him, fiery hair falling over her shoulder in curled tendrils. "rich," she hummed, moving toward him, curling her painted fingers against his cheek. the soft touch was shocking, it reminded him of summer days and cherry red lips.

richie flinched and pulled away, shrinking in on himself and moving past the girl. "well c'mon then, if you're going to drown me might as well get it over with." the black-haired boy plopped himself down on the edge of the chasm, his converse covered feet dangling over the ledge. it took beverly a few seconds to follow behind him, so this time allowed richie a few seconds to calm the burning behind his eyes.

what richie didn't see—what he wouldn't have wanted to see—was the sadness that lanced through beverly's eyes as she watched her best friend slink away from her. the darkness crept over him as she reached for him, and that was a feeling she never wanted to experience again. not with richie. not with her best friend.

beverly moved toward him, slipping down beside him, but not quite letting their shoulders brush. instead, she let the cool night air brush across their skin as they stared at the moonlight reflecting off of the murky water. bev pulled the package out from beneath her arm, tilting her head toward richie and holding it out to him. "happy birthday, richie."

richie's eyes widened at her words. his dad had mumbled a half-assed 'happy birthday' before slipping out the door with his shirt untucked and whiskey on his breath. how the hell did beverly marsh know when his birthday was? he parted his lips to ask her that exact question, but apparently she saw the look on his face and answered him before he even had the chance.

"i asked henry."

his heart stopped. his breath caught in his throat. the blood rushing through his body pounded rapidly in his ears. henry bowers was not the type of person to have a civilized conversation with a girl like beverly marsh. his heart felt like it was being torn in two.

"relax," she huffed, pushing the present into his slightly shaking arms since he hadn't taken it yet, "he was too shocked that i was talking to him to say anything else—if that's what you were worried about. now open your present, weirdo, if you keep sitting there with your mouth open you might catch flies." her smile was sunshine and happiness all rolled into one. richie's heart beat faster, but for a whole new reason. god, he could spend the rest of his life loving beverly marsh.

with that in mind, richie's trembling fingers pulled at the brown paper, eyebrows scrunched as he concentrated. richie couldn't really remember the last time he had been given a birthday present. not that it was a big deal, but richie's birthdays used to be something he cherished. the smell of cinnamon and sugar wafting from the kitchen as maggie tozier mixed a too-large bowl of cookie dough on the counter. she would pretend not to notice as richie snuck up behind her—flour clutched in his hands—and pretend to be surprised when it ended up in her hair..

but now, the beautiful beverly marsh was awarding him a walkman embellished with designs out of various colored nail polishes. she had written out, in all caps, 'happy 14th birthday, loser!' richie stared at it for quite a while before turning to look up at the angel before him with wide eyes, the trashmouth for once at a loss with words. "bev, i—" she hushed him, fingers slipping into her pocket and pulling out a pack of winston's to accompany the tape player. "just say 'thank you,' tozier. it's not new anyway, it was just something i found when i was looking around."

it was definitely new, and richie new beverly was sure as hell not made of money. yet, her honey-soaked eyes were full of care and hope, so he took the pack of cigarettes and carefully placed the presents down at his side. he surged forward, wrapping his arms around the redhead and pulling her close, which was uncharacteristically not like richie, but he did it anyway. _you're a saint, beverly marsh. the world doesn't deserve you, i don't deserve you. i love you._ he wanted to say everything, but the words fell flat in his throat. instead, a small, "thank you," left his lips, but bev just held him even closer.

"you're welcome, sweetheart."

fuck. to have beverly marsh continue to love him, richie would do anything.


	3. three

**"i am intrigued by the smile upon your face and, the sadness in your eyes."**   
**— jeremy aldana**   
  
  
  


**warning** : chapter contains homophobic slurs   
if richie was being honest with himself, the first day of school was even more uneventful than he thought it would be. he rode his bike to school with beverly alongside him in silence, slinking away when they arrived to avoid the stares of her friends. he knew all of their faces, knew all of their names. though, richie knew them mostly by different names, so he couldn't quite look them in the eye.

everytime richie tozier had come into relatively close contact with the losers it had been in the shadow of henry bowers. henry hated them all, but richie didn't really know why. he knew hen was mad a lot—knew that he couldn't really help the way he lashed out sometimes at richie. yet with the losers, it was like henry was a whole different person.

because of this, richie kept his head down and ignored the soft calls of beverly marsh as she tried to lead him over to her friends. _her_ friends. not his. instead, richie would find himself stalking the halls behind henry and his goons, shoulders dipped and eyes locked on the floor. richie never participated in henry's harassing of other students, but he never tried to stop it either, so he figured he was just as bad as the rest of them.

often times, the raven haired boy would find himself in the back corners of the library rather than the classrooms he should have been in. richie found solace in the stillness of the room, save for the librarian sat at her desk, occasionally flipping the page of a book. she didn't mind him, richie was fairly sure she didn't even know he was there most of the time. he knew the teachers had long since given up discovering his whereabouts—richie would ace whatever material they gave him regardless of his presence.

so richie found himself in the back of the library, sat on the ground and leaning against one of the ancient shelves. the headphones of his walkman covered his ears, the colorfully painted system tucked into his backpack at his side. _the wanderer_ echoed in his ears, eyes closed and foot unconsciously tapping to the gentle rhythm.

_they don't even know my name.._

the tozier felt the music seeping into him, covering him with a layer of certainty—a feeling—that was all consuming. he listening to the words, more closely than most, deciphering their meanings and the embodiment of emotion behind them.

_cause i'm the wanderer,_   
_yeah, the wanderer.._

a hand falling onto his shoulder sent richie shooting straight up, tensed and alert with his eyes wide open. in front of him stood the figure of ben hanscom, bright smiling face staring down at him and hand falling off his shoulder and coming up to rub the back of his own neck. "sorry!" he laughed, chubby cheeks taking on a red hue. "i didn't mean to scare you." richie stared at him, eyes slightly narrowed in confusion at the situation he currently found himself in. why the fuck was ben hanscom acknowledging him, much less in a friendly manner? christ, the world _was_ coming to an end.

richie's face must have displayed one of his many conflicting emotions because ben's face brightened even further and he huffed out an embarrassed laugh. "sorry," he repeated again, ignoring richie's wide eyes and plopping down on the ground next to the tozier, "i'm ben, but i'm sure you already knew that, derry is too small to not know everyone's names." ben was rambling, but richie couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed, he was a trashmouth himself after all.

"anyway, sorry for interrupting you, but the reason i'm here is because beverly talks about you a lot—" that had his head jerking to the side, she talked about richie with _them_? "—and since you're her best friend, i wanted to ask for your help." richie's mind was running a mile a minute and he barely had time to digest that load before ben was talking again. "i've been in lo— _liked_ her for a while now and i want to ask her to go on a date with me, but i'm not sure if i should get her a gift to ask, or if she'd even like a gift, or.."

the words that fell from ben hanscom's mouth shocked richie into silence, which was a rarity in and of itself. the rest of ben's rambling fell on deaf ears as richie took time to compute the overwhelming amount of emotions that ran rampant through his brain. richie's lips parted, but no words came forth, only the furrow of his brow was outwardly shown. ben must have took this as a sign of displeasure on richie's part because soon enough more word vomit was spilling from his mouth, "but if you don't want to or you're busy, that's totally fine i can always as—"

"why—why are you asking for my help?" richie managed to choke the words out, shaky hands moving up to pull the headphones off of his ears completely and around his neck instead. richie tozier had acquired, _at most_ , around two or three conversations with ben hanscom in his lifetime, and those usually consisted of the latter asking if he could borrow the book richie was reading after he was done with it. come to think of it, this was probably the longest conversation he'd had with someone that _wasn't_ beverly. henry was more of a physical being than a social one.

ben looked at richie, a newfound emotion welling in his eyes and peering into it made richie feel as though he was looking into something private—something deeply personal that he wasn't meant to see. "i just—" ben began, sigh and turning to face the boy beside him, "—you know her better than any of us, better than me, and i just want it to be perfect for her, you know? she deserves it." and richie couldn't help but agree that yes, beverly marsh did deserve perfection.

yet suddenly, the slow burn of reality sunk into him all at once. ben hanscom was going to ask beverly on a date. did she like him back? she had never really mentioned ever liking anyone, but i'm retrospect she never really mentioned much of the losers around richie anyway. yet _he_ was the one who knew her best? richie's heart clenched and a shroud of anxiety welled up fiercely in his chest. _fuck._ if she said yes would she even have time for richie anymore? would she be too focused on her boyfriend to even be with her best friend? _shit. shit._ he didn't know if he could handle a version of his fucked up world that didn't have beverly marsh in it.

_one, two, three.._

richie counted, digging his fingers into the rough fabric of his jeans, keenly aware of the deep breaths entering and exiting his body. if he counted it made everything quiet, made everything take up less room in his head. he thought of his mother, who would tell him to close his eyes and count and before he knew it, everything would be over.

ben was watching him with a concerned expression, but richie didn't dare respond until the blood rushing through his ears took a dramatic shift downward. eventually, he was able to part his lips without them trembling, and he took that as his cue to reply to the boy sitting mere inches from him.

"beverly appreciates sentiment more than material things, so maybe if you get her something that's meaningful—" ben cut him off and honestly, richie couldn't have been more grateful. a million thoughts were running through his mind and he didn't want to accidentally let them slip out into the open where anyone could hear them. "—that's perfect! why didn't i think of that? do you think we could meet downtown tomorrow? i know it's probably not your thing but i obviously can't ask bev and the other guys wouldn't be able to keep a secret so—"

"yeah, yeah, okay hanscom— _fuck—_ just stop talking you're giving me headache." the words fell from his mouth unbidden and afterword, panic gripped him. he hadn't meant to actually _agree._ perhaps the chubby boy would laugh in his face and tell him it was all a joke. at this point, richie would have preferred anything to having to spend an awkward evening with ben hanscom in downtown derry.

but of course, ben just laughed and grinned so wide his eyes disappeared into the squint of his skin. "thanks, richie! i'll meet you after school and we can just bike there together, yeah?" the blond haired boy was pushing himself off the ground, clapping richie on the shoulder and completely oblivious to the emotional turmoil that was raging through the ravenette beneath him. a few more chirps of thanks fell from his lips before ben was happily moving out of the library, a skip in his step that wasn't there before and the faint sound of richie's head hitting the bookshelf.

_good going, tozier. you've got a date with ben fucking hanscom._

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

richie had his backpack hefted onto one shoulder—the other strap having come loose a while ago—as he made his way out of the front doors of derry high. the front yard was littered with kids and the noise was almost unbearable, so much so it made richie wince.

yet, he kept his head down and moved over toward the over-crowded bike rack, finding purchase on his easily considering he and beverly were more often than not the last ones to arrive at school. he freed his bike from the others, heaving it out of the pile and onto the grass when he heard a familiar shout pierce through the air.

richie had dropped his bike and was moving toward the noise before he even had time to truly process what he was doing. the noise belonged to henry, and his heart began to pound fiercely in his chest as he frantically scanned the swarms of kids for the boy. but when he found him, richie's heart was in his throat, he didn't know what he had expected; that henry would be in danger? what a joke. instead, his eyes found the familiar sight of henry, patrick, vic, and belch descending on two figures he couldn't quite make out from far away.

he knew it would be in his best interest to ignore the situation. henry never made him take part in the harassment and he should have been more grateful of the fact, but something edged him forward and somehow he found himself eying the small figures of bill denbrough and eddie kaspbrak.

henry was bigger, older, and a hell of a lot stronger, but the worst part about it all was that he _knew_ he was and he used it to his advantage.

"how does it feel, billy boy? how does it feel to know know it's your fault that your brother is fucking dead? bet you couldn't even call for help, huh? 'h-h-help.'" the malicious laughs of the older boys echoed through the courtyard and richie couldn't resist the need to hide himself in henry's shadow. the words lanced through him and richie ached in unspoken sympathy for the poor boy in front of him.

bill denbrough looked close to tears, lips parted as he attempted to articulate a word, but it just wasn't passing his lips. richie dropped his head as his stomach burned in shame. he didn't even know why he had come over. it wasn't like he could intervene, henry would kill him.

what richie didn't notice was that eddie kaspbrak wasn't close to tears, in fact, his fists were clenched at his sides and his face was burning in heated anger. "fuck off, bowers," he hissed, words venomous and meant to bite, but his threats seemed minute compared to henry's. "he doesn't need to hear shit from a guy who was such a fucking disappointment to his parents they never had another kid."

henry tensed, and richie could see the anger slowly rising in his friend. richie worried his lower lip between his teeth. he should say something. _fuck._ he _needs_ to say something now—

"who asked you, girly boy? i forgot that faggots could talk. want to get down on your knees and suck his dick while you're at it? why don't i help you with that?" the switchblade danced in henry's palm and richie's heart plummeted. he wouldn't, he wouldn't hurt someone with people around. _he wouldn't._ yet, as henry moved toward the pair, richie had the ice cold realization that he wasn't so sure henry wouldn't.

however, it seemed like the clouds had parted and a miracle was raining down because a woman richie recognized as one of the english teachers came jogging toward the group and henry backed off quickly. "bill!" she called, a wide smile spread across her lips, "you left this in my class," she handed the denbrough a thinned our notebook, like he had ripped pages out of it, "—i hope you don't mind, i read the first couple of pages, you have talent! if you have more, i'd love to look ove for for you. if you'll let me, of course." he only let out a weak 'thank you' and a small smile, to which she seemed to get the hint. "well," the teacher hummed, eyeing the group, "all of you boys have a nice weekend!"

when she was gone, henry glared at the boys, a small snarl falling across his lips that was gone as quick as it came. the gravity of being in a public place seemed to have finally dawned on him. "don't miss me too much, fags." and he was gone, skunk away with the rest of his goons and leaving the three of them standing there in silence.

soon enough, the kaspbrak boy had snapped out of his trance, eyes falling to richie who stood stunned a few feet away from the pair. his eyes narrowed and then eddie kaspbrak's rage was turned on the ravenette.

"enjoy the show, tozier?" he spit, eyes narrowed and perfectly parted hair falling into his eyes. richie stumbled backward, he had never really realized how pretty eddie was, but he figured now was probably not a good time to tell the small boy that he found him beautiful. especially not when he had that murderous glint shining in his eye.

"no, i—" richie rushed, but eddie was quick to snap back, "—don't. you standing there like a loyal fucking dog was enough. don't know what else i expected from bowers' bitch, anyway." eddie's words bit into him and suddenly, richie wished he could disappear. _i wanted to help. i'm so sorry._ he wanted to scream, but nothing came out.

instead, he watched eddie's harsh glare pointed at him, then the softness that fell across his features when he moved back toward bill. god, he was even prettier when he wasn't angry.

so as eddie kaspbrak led bill denbrough away with an arm around his shoulder, which was almost comical considering the height difference between the pair, all that flooded richie's vision was the hatred that shown in eddie's eyes as he looked at him.

and richie couldn't help but think about how familiar he was with that look.


	4. four

**"behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic."**   
**— oscar wilde**   
  
  
  


**warning:** chapter contains slurs related to weight  
if you would have told richie he'd be standing in the middle of a drug store looking for a romantic gift for beverly marsh with ben hanscom, he would have laughed.

yet here he stood, buried beneath two layers in the heat of fall, searching the isles for something that spoke to true to beverly. ben had asked him about the ensemble that adorned richie's skinny body, but the tozier just shrugged it off and wrote it off as "this morning was just a bad morning." the basis of which wasn't entirely a lie. it _hadn't_ been the best start to the day richie had ever had.

against his usual schedule, wentworth tozier was awake and sitting on the couch when richie had woken up for school. a cigarette was pinched in between his thumb and pointer finger and there was a wrinkle between his brow that had his son coming to halt.

mr. tozier didn't turn his his head to acknowledge the boy that stood like a statue in the entry way of the living room, but he did let out a small tsk and exhale the stench of a camel cigarette. richie hated the smell of camels, they made the burns on his back ache. "richard," he greeted, voice gravely and eyes sunken in due to his lack of sleep, "come here."

richie didn't want to move, he felt petrified, but his feet betrayed him and moved toward the man out of their own accord. he felt like the smoke was choking him, but richie couldn't even find it in himself to cry out in fear, for the eyes looking into his own were empty, and richie knew no one would come for him.

"care to enlighten me," his father began, hand spread across the back of the couch and one of his legs casually resting on his knee, "as to why there was five bucks missing from my wallet when i got home this morning." richie's blood turned cold. he needed that money—his dad barely bought food as it was, but he'd been working overtime at the station and richie was just so _hungry._

but he knew his reasons—his _excuses—_ wouldn't matter. he'd stolen from his father and wentworth tozier was a firm believer in putting out the persona of being an outstanding citizen. so when richie felt the familiar grip of rough, calloused hands surround his wrist, he bit the inside of his mouth until it bled and took his beating like a bitch.

so now, in order to hide the new bruises and burns from the prying eyes of derry, richie had adorned a long sleeved shirt under a t-shirt. the shirt covered moved of the noticeable marks, but the way it brushed against them when richie walked—or even breathed, had him wincing and sucking in small breaths through his teeth.

ben was leading the charge through the isles of the drug store, picking up various objects and looking at them with a great amount of concentration before shaking his head and putting them back on the shelf. _oh, pretty woman_ was humming softly in richie's ears as he followed behind ben, richie figured it would get him in the _mood_ to spend what seemed like hours shopping for a pretty woman.

eventually, ben stopped at the end of the last isle, turning to face richie with a dejected look on his face and richie was quick to slip the headphones off of his ears. almost immediately he missed the music.

"i can't think of anything," ben groaned leaning against one of the shelves and squeezing his eyes shut, "i can't even think of one thing that would show her that i really liked her." richie felt bad for the kid, he really looked like the realization was taking a toll on him. from the limited knowledge richie held about ben hanscom, he had quite the bleeding heart, so his reaction really didn't surprise richie.

"hey," richie spoke, voice cracking with disuse as he stuck his tongue out to run along his dry lips, "i'm sure we can find something—" his eyes scanned the counter, desperate for something to get ben out of his rut. richie's eyes fell upon a rack of postcards by them at the back of the store and he quickly moved over to snatch one. the picture on the back was of a the derry standpipe, a rickety old water tower that he was sure bev would find charming and 'rustic.' "—here, write her something on this. she'll love it. bev's a sucker for homemade gifts."

richie waited patiently for ben's reaction, holding out the postcard to him as the other boy stared at it. a few seconds later, ben's eyes lit up and he took the postcard from richie with a grin spread across his face. richie noticed that his eyes disappeared when he smiled. "that's a great idea, rich! she'll love that. maybe i could write her a poem?"

the tozier shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and smirking slightly. "whatever you say, haystack. don't expect me to help you with a poem, i have a reputation to uphold. can't waste time on just one lady when i've got so many others chasing after me." ben just laughed, surging forward to wrap his arms around richie.

richie winced, biting back a small cry and keeping his arms stiff at his sides. his body ached, and hardly anyone hugged him. beverly usually held his hand instead and henry certainly wasn't one to show affection, so the embrace of ben hanscom was foreign to the trashmouth. "y'know," ben sighed, pulling away from richie and moving toward the counter to pay for the postcard, "you're not so bad, tozier."

_oh but i am,_ richie's thoughts screamed out to the boy's retreating figure, _all i am is bad. i'm a bad person. i deserve to have you hate me. why don't you hate me?_

the boys left the store with ben chattering away happily and clutching the bag containing his gift tightly in his hand. "—and then bev scared him so bad that stan let out the highest pitched scream any of us had ever heard. we all laughed so hard and the only one that could even stop long enough to ask if stan was okay was bill." ben was laughing, cheeks flushed with joy as the memories flooded back to him.

richie's heart ached. it hurt to know that—just because richie's world revolved around beverly marsh—her world didn't revolve around him. she had so many people that made her happy—made her laugh. all he had was her. her and henry.

"he probably spent too much time recreating the mating calls of birds. isn't he obsessed with birds?" richie joked, rolling his eyes and slowing his steps on the sidewalk so ben could better keep up. richie tended to let his awkwardly long legs get the better of him at times.

ben shook his head, giggling, "yeah, he's pretty obsessed with them, but not as bad as bill was with—" he was cut off by the roar of an engine and the familiar squelch of worn out breaks.

"hey piggie!" belch cackled out henry's car window, throwing the door open and leaning against the old rusted piece of junk. richie and ben had made their way to a less populated area of derry where not much foot traffic was due to the lack of shops down in the area. richie tensed, dropping his head to the ground while ben just rolled his eyes beside him.

"leave me alone, we were just leaving anyway." he sounded strong, richie admired that, but one look at the shorter boy had richie realizing his bravery was only a farce. ben hanscom was terrified.

"we?" came the familiar echo of henry's voice and all richie could do was try his best not to shrink away from the disgust in his voice. "the fuck are you doing hanging around with tits, tozier?"

the nickname had richie wincing. he didn't like when henry called people names. especially ben, ben was nice to him and he—

"well?" henry moved toward the pair, getting close to richie and gripping his chin in one hand, making the ravenette look at him. "i don't want to ask again." richie didn't like when henry got angry like this, he wanted his henry back. his henry, his henry who would speak softly with him and tell him everything would be okay.

"leave him alone!" came the squeaky cry of ben hanscom as he moved toward richie, eyebrows furrowed as he yelled at henry. richie's heart sank. ben didn't need to stand up for him. richie could take it. ben needed to get the fuck out of here, run away before he made anything worse.

but it was too late, henry dropped richie's chin and turned toward ben with a snarl on his lips. "you talkin' to me, fat boy?" he growled, "what if i don't leave him alone? will you eat me?" henry descended upon ben, shoving the poor boy and causing him to lose his footing and stumble back before falling onto the concrete. richie bit into the flesh of his lip.

ben only narrowed his eyes from the ground, hands still shaking at his sides, but he ignored it. "just go away, henry." he huffed, eyes locked with the older boy's standing menacingly above him. henry only laughed, throwing his head to the side and signaling for belch and patrick to come forward and grab onto either one of ben's arms and haul him up and against the wall of the nearby alleyway.

richie stumbles after them, finally lifting his head to stare wide eyed as henry neared him, slipping the switchblade out of his pocket. ben struggled in the boys' grip as his eyes fell on the weapon barely concealed in henry's hand. "please don't, please stop," ben begged, eyes wild but always falling back to the blade mere feet from his skin.

henry unsheathed the blade and hacked away ben's shirt with one swoop. richie finally found it in himself to move closer and grab onto henry's bicep, breath leaving his lungs at the murderous look he got in return. "get out of here, richie." henry's voice was gruff, but richie didn't move.

"no, hen, don't hurt him, please i—" henry growled, turning to face richie and shove him backwards. "don't call me that, how many times do i have to tell you?" richie's eyes watered. _you only tell me not to call you that around them._

henry moved back toward ben, movements shaking with rage and aggressive intent as he brandished the blade toward the sensitive flesh of ben's stomach. "this is going to hurt, tits. i wish i gave a shit." and that was all he said before pressing the blade into the boy's skin and starting the bloody beginning of a carved 'H'.

ben's screams filled the air and richie's heart shattered. he saw red, moving toward henry and shoving the older boy with all of his weight. "don't fucking touch him!" his voice held bite and he glared down at henry on the ground before him, who looked stunned by richie's outburst. richie only continued, turning toward the boys holding ben and narrowing his eyes, "let him go or i'll fucking kill you."

apparently he looked murderous because the two dropped ben's arms with wide eyes and backed up towards henry. richie moved forward, throwing ben's arm over his shoulders to help support his weight. henry had pushed himself up off the ground and glared daggers at richie as richie did the same to him. "you'll get yours later, tozier." then they were gone.

richie let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and turning his head to glance at ben. "ben," he breathed, breath catching at the blood pooling against his pale skin, "we need to get you help. a hospital—"

"no." ben sounded calm, certainly calmer than richie, who was trembling so much that ben must have felt it. "the losers will be at the diner right now, you need to get them." he motioned his head toward the small diner a few buildings down and richie looked back toward him with wide eyes.

"your friends were here the whole time and you still wanted to hang out with me?" he was confused, ben had no reason to drag richie along. all of his other friends were _here._ but all ben did was scoff and roll his eyes playfully, a small smile spread across his lips as richie helped him to sit on the ground. "of course, like i said, you're not as bad as you think you are, tozier."

all richie could do was nod in shock and let a few breathless words pass his lips before he was running toward the shady looking diner down the street. blood covered his hands and part of his shirt, but he didn't seem to notice as he pushed the door open, wild eyes scanning the booths for a familiar head of fiery hair.

"bev! beverly!" he choked and immediately she turned to look at him with concerned eyes, which widened upon seeing the blood covering his hands and staining his shirt. "what?" she called, slamming her chair back and moving toward him with a group of shocked boys stumbling after her. "what's wrong, richie? are you okay? are you blee—"

"—it's ben." the words tumbled from his lips before he knew they were even there and he heard an audible intake from the girl in front of him. yet—to bev's credit—she only let out a shaky nod and asked for richie to show them where he was.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

richie stood to the side as all of the losers surrounded ben. eddie kaspbrak was preoccupied with cleaning and bandaging the angry red wound while beverly crouched beside ben and clutched his shoulder comfortingly. "what happened?" her gentle voice cooed, concern lacing every word. oh beverly marsh, always an angel.

ben just shrugged, eyes not having left her face since she had come into view. "henry bowers," was all he said. everyone seemed to go silent after that.

evidentially eddie was done bandaging ben's wound because a scoff echoed around the alleyway a few seconds later. "well we know who's fault it was then." his eyes burned into richie's and all the boy wanted to do was run away, again. "r-r-richie?" bill asked, brows furrowed as he eyed eddie, "ho-how w-would it be h-his fau-fault?"

eddie's expression scared richie more than his father's. "well, it's obvious isn't it?" came stan's pinched reply. "he's one of them. one of bowers' dogs." richie flinched back as if stan had hit him, though, he might as well have, the words dug deep enough into him. "no, stan, he's—" ben. "a fucking coward is what he is." eddie. "you don't know him." bev. "i don't _want_ to know him." stan.

all of the voices overlapped and richie slammed his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to block them out. the only two who weren't taking were bill and a kid richie didn't recognize from school, deep skin and saddened face.

_one, two.._

his counting was rushed and not steady like he preferred, but all of the angry voices echoing around him made it hard.

"fucking coward!"

_three, four.._

richie was close to tears, eyes slammed shut and fingers digging painfully into his ears as the arguing escalated to shouting.

_five._

no no no. he couldn't do this. he couldn't. so he ran. richie ran so fast that the wind bit at his face. he didn't know if anyone was following him, if anyone was calling his name. he just ran until his lungs burned and he found himself outside of the bowers' front door.

henry opened the door without him having to knock. he dragged him into the house and richie was grateful. so, so grateful because henry was helping him to _feel._ the slide of the switchblade along his skin had a _feeling._ the crack of henry's fists connecting with richie's already battered body had a _feeling._

but richie's favorite feeling of all was how henry held him close afterwords, featherlight touch brushing against his bruises and lips caressing his cheek. they sat at the bench of henry's old piano, richie's body aching beautifully and his head against henry's shoulder before gentle fingers came to lift up his chin. the same fingers that had done the same action so violently not so long ago.

and then henry's lips were on his, and just like a not so distant past, with his mother's hands lovingly caressing his skin, richie could _feel everything._


	5. five

**"we are made of all those who have built and broken us."**

**— atticus**

words were something that came easy to richie tozier. he understood their meanings—their complexities—better than he understood anyone or anything else in his life. yet, words held a lot of power. a simple slip of the tongue had to power to destroy someone and _fuck_ , one day words would be the thing that tore him apart. richie just hoped that they would be able to put him back together just as easily.

and so richie wrote. he wrote thousands of letters penned to no one. penned to people who wouldn't answer. they were barely coherent scribbles, they were complex layouts of emotion. yet nobody knew about them. he never read them. he sealed them away in bare envelopes with nothing but a smudged date in the top right corner. tucked away on the preserved pages was richie's sloppy signature, _"always, richie."_

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

beverly marsh was one of the few people richie loved, while also being one of the few people that seemed to trip him at every turn. she had called him at home—late—as to avoid the possibility of mr. tozier answering the phone—and requested that he accompany her to the quarry the following afternoon. richie was hesitant, insisting as best he could over the static line that, "—they won't be there right?" followed by beverly's response of, "—unless you want to invite them." richie didn't invite them, but of course, they were there.

richie had taken his bike up to through the winding path, basically breathless upon arrival when he spotted them. _my best friend's girl_ had been humming softly through his walkman when he pulled the headphones down around his neck. the group was gathered around in a circle facing one another, but immediately glanced over at him, different measures of judgment written across their features. it took him all of two seconds to pull his bike off of the ground—unceremoniously yanking his headphones back up to cover his ears—and preparing to mount it again before bev came running up to him, pleading that he stay and promising she would make it up to him later. richie had sighed, because as everyone knew, you couldn't say no to beverly marsh.

the losers' incessant chatter dimmed a bit when bev returned, richie's hand clasped tightly in her own and pulling him forward with renewed vigor. her grin was contagious, showing off her beautifully crooked teeth and the freckles that danced across her cheeks—richie noted that the others seemed to relax in her presence. "hey guys," she came to a stop pulled richie beside her, hand moving up to hold his arm and prevent him from slinking away, "you remember richie."

stan was the first to react, rolling his eyes and huffing, "how could we forget?" richie wanted to shrink away behind beverly—shade himself from the disgust entangled in those words—but instead, glared at the boy and bit the inside of his cheek to steady his rapidly beating heart. beverly mimicked stan's action and rolled her eyes, lips parted in preparation to defend richie when ben spoke first, "hey, rich!" but that was ben hanscom, too good to everyone, even people who didn't deserve his kindness.

he moved forward to clasp richie's free arm and launched into excited chatter. "dude you've got to see how my stomach has been healing, it looks like it's going to scar, isn't that badass—" richie wasn't really listening, just watched ben pull up the front of his shirt to reveal a mediocrely bandaged wound across his skin. a pang of guilt lanced through richie and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron to prevent himself from clawing his way out of beverly's grasp.

"thank god you were there, though," richie's head snapped up at the confession, his eyes wide with surprise, "otherwise, i'd have his whole name on me. now, i can just pretend it's a secret admirer." ben's eyes were shining and his face was scrunched up with the smile that pulled up the corner of his too-small eyes. richie knew ben was trying to make him feel at home with them, it wasn't his fault that the others didn't feel the same way.

so richie just laughed and probably said something crude and unabashed as the rest of the losers just stared at him with narrowed eyes.

beverly had been the first to jump down into the murky water below them. boldly stripping down to her underclothes and looking back at all of them with a mischievous smirk spread across her freckled face. "come on, babies." she jumped and the rest followed her like lovesick puppies, all except for richie and bill who sat across from each other but looked anywhere but one another. the squeals and excited cheers echoed around the quarry but bill never moved and instantly, richie was more than a little curious.

"don't like the water, huh?" he questioned softly, as if he was speaking to a startled animal, sparing a quick glance to the boy and then looking back toward the ground. bill didn't seem to register that richie had said something for a few seconds, eyebrows scrunched as if he couldn't quite figure out where the voice had come from. eventually, his wide eyes shot up and his mouth parted in surprise as he tried to formulate a coherent response. richie never really noticed before, but bill was decently attractive. he had hair that appeared dark brown until it hit the light and then shown a soft shade of auburn. his eyes were deep pools of chocolate, accessorized by the sharp contour of his eyebrow. once upon a time in a different world, richie might have blushed under that gaze.

"n-no." was bill's simple reply, not quite as cold and calculating as richie had come to expect out of the losers, but still leaving no room for more conversation. richie just nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning as far back as he could against the tree behind him. he was sweating against the layers covering his skin, but he figured that hiding the gashes and bruises littering his dips and curves would be the better alternative to all of them staring at him as if he was even more of a freak.

bill bit at his bottom lip, fingers fumbling with a few blades of grass before he couldn't contain himself and parted his lips again, "i don't like water." he finished, looking as though he wanted to say more but effectively silencing himself against any further outbursts. richie hummed, eyes glancing across the blue sky with narrowed lids. "yeah," he spoke, words faint and quiet, "yeah, i don't like the water either."

that was the first lie that richie ever told bill denbrough. it wasn't that he didn't like the water, it was thought of exposing his torn and tattered skin to these people—these people who hated him. the only person he ever showed was henry and even then, henry was the reason many of the marks were there. richie loved him anyway. no matter how deep henry's knife dug, richie would take hen's face into his trembling hands, connect their troubled eyes, and whisper broken _i love yous_ until it was all over.

henry never said it back.

but richie understood. if he didn't even love himself, how could someone else find something worthwhile in him?

_true love is a myth_ , he murmured to himself, _and with it, the mystery_.

unbeknownst to richie, bill was experiencing a turmoil in and of itself—nervously chewing on his lower lip and gripping the blades of grass roughly in his hands. "g-ge-georgie," he began, cursing under his breath at the shakiness of his stutter, eyebrows scrunched together as he looked up at richie, brave and full of courage that the tozier could never hope to have, "ge-georgie d-drowned. it w-was my fa-fault." his voice broke and lost that luster of strength that richie found himself admiring. he had heard about the tragic accident involving georgie denbrough, as had the entire populous of derry. the boy was outside playing during on of derry's infamous flash floods when he was swept away by the current, or so the story goes. they found his body two days later in the barrens, glassy eyes and bloated skin.

the sight of the broken boy tugged at something deep within him, a feeling of _understanding_ washed over him. richie was good at putting his words onto paper, not so much when trying to speak them aloud. it seemed as though the connection that tied his mouth to his brain was severed, so richie sat silently for several minutes before he plucked up the courage to speak. "'s not your fault, what happened," bill's head shot up and he looked like he was going to protest but richie just swallowed his pride and spoke over him, "bad things just happen to good people. whoever is watching over us is a grade-a asshole."

the second the words fell from his lips, richie knew he had crossed a line. he had no right to tell this hurting boy that his grief was invalid and that his brother dying was just him getting a big, fat 'fuck you' from the universe. "i'm sorry, i—" _i'm sorry i brought up your dead brother. i'm sorry i'm such a coward. i'm sorry i got stuck loving someone who hurts people like you._ but then bill let out a low chuckle, which turned into a soft laugh, which escalated into a side-clutching fit of giggles. richie was stunned. even when he was actually trying to be funny, he rarely got a reaction like that.

so richie just sat there, wringing his hands together in barely noticeable movements as he tried to wrap his head around in what context that was laughable. by the time he had deduced it down to the fact that bill was just insane and gearing up to drag him into the woods to murder him and fingerpaint with his blood, the laughter had ceased.

bill looked at him again, this time with a small smile spread across his lips and a glint in his eye, no longer putting forth the fractured image of a boy who had seen too much. "you're right, richie tozier," he huffed out another laugh, smiling that secret smile that made richie's heart constrict in his chest, like that look was reserved only for him, "the universe can go fuck itself."

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

the others slowly flooded back up toward where bill and richie were sat, now closer to one another and partaking in a very heated conversation about who provided a more insightful look into the passion behind the lyrics in their music, alice cooper or david bowie. richie didn't understand how it was even a choice, obviously, bowie could make a grown man cry, where was the correlation with cooper? the two were still going at it when bev cleared her throat in front of them, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised.

"should we all give you two a moment? you seem to be a—" she didn't even have time to finish her sentence before the two boys were bombarding her with various interpretations of "—don't you think—" "—h-he says t-that—" and "—but it's obvious—" when she looked back to the others for help and they were all just looking on, eyes shifting between the two as if they were watching a tennis match. bev just rolled her eyes with a murmured, "thanks guys."

eventually, the two tired themselves out with arguing, settling on a compromise of, "i guess bowie's got a few good songs," and "maybe alice cooper isn't complete shit." this had the dark skinned boy, who richie had come to find out was named mike, grinning, clapping bill on the back and eyeing between them with a knowing look, "we thought you guys would never stop. not that it was much of an argument anyway, bowie could wipe the floor with cooper any day, sorry bill." bill just narrowed his eyes and playfully pushed mike's hand off of his shoulder, mumbling something about "lack of taste" and "uneducated fools" before he was once again drawn out of his pouting by beverly.

"rich!" she huffed, looking annoyed with herself as her best friend turned to glance at her, watching her dig through the worn bag she carried around everywhere. eddie was sitting next to here, water still dripping from his hair and onto his flushed cheeks, small hands clutching a towel around his slightly trembling body and richie was reminded of why it ached so much to be hated by pretty people. "i got you a tape! i broke into the school's av lab—" that sent stan into a sputtering mess, beverly ignored him, "—and recorded it." the redhead was practically bouncing with excitement as she skipped over to where richie sat, plopping down directly next to him and holding it out with eager hands.

richie felt a small blush spread across his neck, all of the other losers were looking at them, except for eddie and stan who seemed to talking in hushed tones to one another. maybe they were rejoicing in their mutual hatred of him, that made the most sense to richie. hesitantly—and under the watchful eye of beverly, who seemed to not even think about taking the time to blink and possibly miss something—richie took the tape from her and held it softly, as if it was a delicate treasure in his hands.

he flipped it over, eyes falling to the " _beep beep_ " written across the tape in beverly's swirled cursive, a sight that made his heart burn with familiarity and love for the girl enthusiastically gripping his arm. she had decorated the tape to match the outside of the walkman, various shades of brightly colored nail polish streaked across the muted grey plastic. it was so beverly that it made his chest ache.

"it's full of 'get out of your head' songs," she hummed, leaning over and snatching the newly given gift out of his hands, which made him laugh. she flipped it over and ran her finger along the small discography she had written on the back, pointing out certain songs she liked more than others. "that way," bev continued, handing the tape back and leaning her chin on richie's shoulder, "when everything gets to be too loud, you can make it all quiet again." she was smiling her sunshine smile when richie turned to her, making richie's heart flip in his chest. there was nothing he wouldn't do for her—which should have been terrifying—but when beverly marsh looked at him the way she was now, everything was serene.

but, as always, all good things must come to an end.

amidst the presentation of beverly's gift, bill had suggested the whole group ride back to town to catch a movie at the aladdin, a place richie had only been a handful of times with beverly. suffice it to say that when beverly grinned happily, bouncing up and down as she pulled richie close to her side as she dragged them over toward where all of their bikes lay scattered across the uneven ground. "bev," richie licked his lips, eyeing the others in such a way that it could almost be compared to a skittish animal, "i don't think that i—" but she just hushed him, saying he was invited and that bill wouldn't have suggested it if he didn't want richie to come.

richie wasn't so sure about that.

he didn't know these people. more so, he didn't trust these people—excluding beverly—and his point was only proven when eddie kaspbrak pulled up beside him, body tensed and eyebrows knitted in what richie could only assume was anger. the others had already started back down the winding path, leaving just the pair of them to soak in the tension that was spread out before them. richie cleared his throat and moved to swing a leg over his bike when eddie found the words he appeared to be holding down.

"the others may be fooled by you, but i'm not." he began, words venomous and little body trembling with annoyance. richie flinched a little, but kept his eyes downcast as he glanced over at the smaller boy, "what do you—"

"—you know what i mean, tozier. you're not our friend, however hard you try to be. all you are is a bully. a fucking bully who is too much of a coward to stand up to your 'friends.' i've seen how you look at henry. you're just as sick as him."

the words had richie spiraling. his legs felt heavy and his chest constricted painfully. eddie spoke again as he peddled away, but richie's mind was in too much of a disarray to catch the last poisonous words.

_one, two, three.._

his eyes burned and he barely noticed the tears streaming down his face until he tasted the saltiness on his lips. richie trembled, dropping the bike from his grasp and stumbling toward the relative shadow of a tree. he fell into the soft grass there, arms crossed and fingers digging harshly into the opposing bicep. he couldn't breathe.

_four, five, six.._

the words lanced through him and left only destruction in their wake. _coward_ — he had spit at him. he knew that. he knew he was a coward. he knew how much of a waste he was to those around him. yet, hearing the words fall from eddie kaspbrak's mouth set him on fire.

and all richie could do was watch himself burn.


	6. six

**"and in the end we're all just humans.. drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness."**  
**— f. scott fitzgerald**  
  
  
  


richie spent most of his life running. running from his problems, from the past. yet the young boy could never seem to run from the things that hurt him the most. he supposed that this tainted love was all that he deserved. he could never differentiate between the gentle caress of love and the calloused hands of hate. such was life.

so richie sat on the worn out wooden piano bench in henry bowers' living room, his fingers danced across the keys in an uncoordinated manner. his mother had made him take piano lessons for all of two years until he threw so many fits about going, she finally gave up. richie wished he would have kept going. he didn't even have that small memory to remember her by, he had fucked that up too.

henry was seated beside him, a rare goofy smile laced across his features as he watched richie fumble with the keys. their shoulders were pressed against one another's, a gentle caress that let richie know this was all real. hen was here. hen was with him. their shared warmth seeped through richie's bones all at once, making him shiver and lean into the comforting embrace. a heartbeat passed before henry was leaning into him too.

"—no, no!" came the amused shout of henry as he curled his hands over richie's, "your hands are all over the place, here—" large hands covered smaller ones and henry adjusted richie's form to better fit the expanse of the piano. "who taught you? were they tone deaf?" the joking tone in his voice radiated a familiar warmth throughout richie's body.

it reminded him that henry bowers could be like this. henry bowers could love deeply and be loved in return.

"well," richie huffed, glancing out of the corner of his eye to the boy seated beside him, "she was pretty old. every time i told her that i thought we had chemistry she just seemed to ignore me." henry rolled his eyes and bumped their shoulders together, a small huff of laughter falling unbidden from his lips. the sound made richie smile. henry's laugh was a dream and richie melted into it.

"then maybe she was actually deaf, rich. ever think of that?" his voice was gentle and his smile was soft and _fuck_. richie wanted to see that smile forever. henry was still staring down at their hands on the piano, but all richie could look at was him. henry bowers was truly one of the most under cherished individuals richie had ever bore witness to.

the way a few stray blond strands fell into henry's light eyes made richie's breath catch. he had to clasp his hands in his lap to prevent the instinct of brushing the hair from his eyes. and yet, for some strange reason that richie couldn't fathom, henry never acknowledged how truly beautiful he was. the reddened tinge that spread across his cheeks when the heat flushed his skin. the feel of his calloused palms spread around richie's wrists as he held him close, touch burning through the fabric of his sleeves. the way his breath caught whenever richie pulled their lips apart, lips parted and swollen and _real_. how could he not see what richie saw?

as he stared at henry, the image of chocolate locks curled at the ends and deep brown eyes narrowed at him lanced across richie's mind. eddie kaspbrak, with his freckles that formed constellations and honey skin that sent richie in a tailspin. guilt crept up his throat and threatened to choke him with the newfound knowledge that eddie was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen. no one, not even the subtle spark of perfection that was henry bowers could compare.

henry had stopped playing, eyes shifting to lock on richie's hazy blue gaze. richie couldn't help but wonder about this being the situation the pair always found themselves brought to a stalemate in. any second now, henry would lean forward, roughly press his lips against richie's, showing the younger boy the love he had always been so greedy to have.

and richie would let him. he would take the affection in any way he could.

henry stilled in his tracks when the familiar rattle of the back door echoed across the house, body immediately tensing and eyes growing wide with fear. now, it was henry's turn to know exactly what was about to happen.

he was quick to slip off the piano bench, fingers clasped tightly around richie's wrist—hard enough to bruise. richie didn't wince, the familiar grip against his skin was a welcome distraction from the rapid pounding of his heart against his chest. henry's dad wasn't a nice man. he reminded richie all too much of his own father.

"richie," the shakiness of henry's voice was enough to chip away at richie's heart, "don't make a sound. he'll hurt you. i can't—" _i can't protect you._ and just like that, richie's heart shattered.

he was limp as henry slid open the door to the coat closet, pushing richie back and enveloping him in the darkness. all that was left of him was the faint tingle of his fingers wrapped around richie's wrist. richie felt like screaming. all he wanted to do was drag hen into the darkness with him—to hide them away so they would never be hurt again.

but this life wasn't a fairytale and as mr. bowers' descended upon his son, all that was heard around the house was the sound of a belt meeting skin and richie tozier's heart crumbling.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

beverly marsh was richie tozier's best friend. she was the one he turned to whenever he needed an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on. in return, richie was her rock, her shelter in the ever-spiraling storm that was her father. richie could sympathize with such a venture, his father haunted him every time he closed his eyes too. and yet, when bev invited him to celebrate her birthday, he had not expected that in return he would have to face the group of losers she called friends.

that's how richie tozier found himself standing outside bill denbrough's house—fashionably late, as per usual—with a handful of poorly wrapped gifts for the girl who owned his heart. a wrinkled flannel hung off of his shoulders and was paired with a stained tuxedo t-shirt underneath. when he had informed beverly of his formal attire, she had only rolled her eyes and huffed out a laugh, so he had figured that was bev speak for, _"yes rich, you will definitely be the best dressed at the party."_

but standing on the denbrough's front lawn alone while the faint echoes of laughter tumbled from the house made richie really crave a fucking cigarette. his hands were shaking and he suddenly felt very constricted in the loose fabric hanging off his body. in fact, richie had already turned to leave when the sound of the front door opening hit his ears and he froze, back to the door and silence looming over the quiet night. the only thing richie could hear was the erratic pounding of his own heart.

"hi sweetheart, are you here for the party?" the woman's voice was soft and gentle and it made richie's tensed shoulders instantly relax. he glanced over his shoulder and his eyes caught got caught on the patches of what he assumed to be flour clinging to her clothes. a streak of it was spread across her cheek and richie's heart ached at the sudden pang of familiarity.

"uh, yeah." richie stumbled toward the open door with wobbly legs, eyes fervently glancing between the ever-smiling mrs. denbrough and the direction the echoing laughs had come from.

"well, come on in," she hummed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and guiding him into the house, "you must be richie. bill has told me all about you." that had been enough to stop richie in his tracks and slowly drag his eyes to the admittedly beautiful woman closing the door behind him.

bill talked about him? what was there to talk about? so many questions flitted through richie's head, but he didn't have time to ask before mrs. denbrough was smiling at him again and point down to a door at the end of the hallway.

"they're all in the basement, sweetheart," that was the second time she had called him that, "bill didn't tell me it was beverly's birthday!" she rolled her eyes, but held a small fond smile spread across her lips, "so i'm baking an impromptu birthday cake. it should be ready within an hour." her voice was gentle, but not the gentle richie was used to. her voice never shifted into something sharp and jagged, no, her voice stayed smooth as silk and it made richie want to cry.

"t-thanks, mrs. d." _fuck,_ richie needed to get a grip. he sounded like bill, and mrs. denbrough let out a small laugh and leaned forward to brush a few untamed curls from his eyes. "oh please," she hummed, sending him an affectionate gaze that had richie feeling overwhelmed, "call me sharon."

when she said that, the haphazardly folded letter in richie's pocket seemed to burn a hole straight through to his skin. all that left his lips was a polite 'thank you' before he was taking wide strides toward the stairs leading to the basement, eager to put distance between himself and the saint upstairs.

"don't worry, the party can start now, i have arrived." richie announced his presence as soon as he hit the last stair, eyes scanning over the group sitting in a semi-circle around one another. beverly's vibrant red strands stuck out like a sore thumb and richie immediately made his way toward her, his safe haven.

bev rolled her eyes at him and parted her perfectly shaped lips, "fashionably late as always, rich?" her voice portrayed annoyance but richie could tell she was teasing, the soft shimmer in her eye betraying the emotion.

he huffed out a laugh, throwing himself down beside her on the couch and throwing his feet in her lap. he noticed that the others were all situated next to one another besides beverly and ben. the ravenette figured that was most likely done on purpose. "what would i be if not tardy, miss marsh?" he cooed in a posh british voice, leaning forward to tug at the ends of her hair.

upon the sentence leaving his mouth, richie could have sworn he heard stan scoff and mumble something under his breath but beverly was already in motion before he had the chance to decipher what the bird boy said. "now that richie's here," she hummed excitedly, a bright grin lacing across her features, "it's time for gifts. hit me with your best shot, boys."

all of the other boys went first, showering beverly with odd little knickknacks and thoughtful momentos. ben gave bev the post card he and richie had found in the drug store, to which a broad grin lanced across her features and she planted a soft kiss right on ben's cheek. richie clutched his gifts tightly to his chest. his shittily wrapped gifts that paled in comparison to the other's. richie's nerves were alight and the hole eddie kaspbrak's gaze was burning into his skin didn't aid the feeling.

"rich!" bev sung, turning to him on the couch and grabbing for the items in his hands, "it's your turn! what did you get me?" he let her take the gifts out of his grasp, tongue darting out to lick his dry lips before he sat forward and wrung his hands anxiously while she tore into the packaging.

"jesus, bev. could you tear the paper a little faster? it's not like i spent a lot of time on it or anything." all the red-head did was roll her eyes before they met the unwrapped gifts lying in her lap. there was a tape, " _ringwall_ " sloppily written across the front in richie's chicken scratch scrawl. a pack of marlboros and a bottle of light blue nail polish complimenting the music enough that bev's eyes glazed and she turned to richie with a tremble in her lower lip.

"rich—" she was choked up and richie just sent her a small smile, fingers still laced together in his lap even when she shot forward to wrap her arms around him. "you're welcome, bev." he was tense, but brought a shaking hand up to wrap around her back so she knew he was there. he would always be there.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

upon further inspection of richie's gifts, beverly seemed to be formulating a nefarious plan as she rolled the bottle of nail polish in between her hands as the boys prattled on about _who the fuck knows_. eventually, a mischievous grin had settled across her lips and that was a look that richie was all too familiar with. "guys," she hummed in that sing-song voice that had richie squinting at her, "let me paint your nails."

beverly's request was immediately met with groans of dissatisfaction and bill's stuttered mess of "no f-fucking w-w-way." however, beverly marsh was a girl that got what she wanted, one way or another. so richie watched as all of the losers, one by one, took a seat beside beverly and allowed her to paint the pinky nails on both of their hands with the sky blue shade.

the sight had richie feeling even more cold and alone than he had at the door with the woman who was everything he had wanted but never had the chance to have from his mother.

these were beverly's friends. not him. he was just richie tozier. the coward who never spoke. the boy who never showed his arms. the delinquent who smoked in detention. _henry bowers' bitch._ he was nothing compared to these people. these fucking losers.

before richie even knew what was happening, his feet were carrying up the stairs and out the door with beverly calling for him, the polish still clasped tightly in her hand.

the cold air burned his lungs and bit at his skin as he sat down on the front steps of the denbrough house, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting the end with shaking hands. the inhale of nicotine burned his throat and set his lung on fire, but richie welcomed the ache, he _needed_ it.

richie was so engrossed in the familiar burn he didn't even notice when one eddie kaspbrak indignantly sat himself down on the stoop beside him.

"you know tozier," he began, shocking richie from his thoughts and nearly making him drop the cigarette, (which eddie is glaring at), and set the yard on fire, "i really can't figure you out. first, you're silent and mind your own fucking business. i mean sure, your friends are grade-a dickwads, but at least you're not really part of the problem. then, you just sit back and watch, front row tickets to the "freak" show, congratulations. but then, you go and save ben from your asshole friends and get your ass beat for it. so which is it? who the fuck are you, tozier?"

eddie's words rushed over him like a tidal wave and it's all richie could do to stay rooted to the porch and take another shaky drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes and let a pitiful little chuckle escape his lips with the smoke. "honestly, kaspbrak," richie's voice sounded wrecked and croaky, so he cleared his throat and continued to tread lightly through the minefield that was eddie kasbrak, "i don't know who the fuck i am." and that seemed to be answer enough for richie.

the pair sits in silence for what felt like hours before richie dropped his cigarette onto the concrete below their feet and stomped out the lit bud. his heart was still beating erratically in his chest when eddie decided to open his mouth again, albeit softer now. "when we were at the quarry," he starts, licking his lips and moving his honey eyes to lock with richie's, "when you were talking to bill i—, your sleeves rode up and i saw—, does henry hurt you?" there was a glint of subdued anger in eddie's eyes and richie couldn't help but be mesmerized by his beauty.

his eyes were the color of honey, sweet and soft and _alive_. his skin was painted with the faintest of freckles, constellations that danced across his skin in the most complex waltz. his lips looked soft and the color of skin flushed in the summer heat. eddie kaspbrak was beautiful— _angelic_ _—_ and no one else could ever compare.

"hurt people hurt people, eds," he whispered, looking away from eddie's unwavering gaze and down to his tattered and torn shoes bouncing anxiously against the concrete, "better to stop keeping track of who and why." eddie's lips parted and richie's eyes drifted up, but the smaller boy didn't speak, didn't push further. richie could tell he wanted to.

"beverly tells me you like music. you gave her a tape." he said instead, motioning to the walkman clipped to richie's belt loop and richie hesitates for only a second before he pulls it off the loop and sets it between them. his hands find the headphones around his neck, as well as the slightly crumpled note folded in his pocket and offered them to eddie.

"here," he spoke gently, finally connecting their eyes, fire against ice, "they say what i can't."

so on that warm night in 1989, eddie kaspbrak and richie tozier sat together, matching painted pinkies resting beside one another on the stoop as ' _desperado_ ' hung in the air between them.

_i'm not tryna go against you_

_"dear eddie kaspbrak, there's a certain irony in being hated by the most beautiful person you've ever seen."_

_you ain't leaving me behind_


	7. seven

**"i walked through, and my eyes swallowed everything, no matter how it cut."**   
**— tracy smith**   
  
  
  


**warning** : chapter contains homophobic slurs & potentially triggering sexual assault  
 _love is never easy. so say all of the poets and philosophers of the world. and yet, when you find a love worth fighting for, it seems as if those trials are just an afterthought. a whisper of what you went through. that summer of golden honey eyes._

_fuck_ richie was late. the hallways were barren and not even the faintest peep of another student was heard as the echo of richie's shoes ricochetted off the tiled walls. since the night of her birthday, beverly had stopped meeting richie on the corner of his street every morning on her bike. instead, she met ben, the boy whose heart she held in her hands. bile rose in richie's throat when he thought of them—thought of _her_. to see that smile upon her face, that was the hardest part of being replaced.

thus, richie lost most of his already dwindling motivation to drag himself to school. however, he had stayed up until the early hours of morning hunched over his desk, thoughts swimming with the vision of a boy with honey skin.

he had stayed up compiling a tape of songs that reminded him coffee cream eyes and rosy lips. songs that reminded him of eddie kaspbrak. the night of beverly's party had ended with the pair sharing a silence that spoke a thousand words on bill denbrough's front steps. the music that played in eddie's ears had come to an end and the letter was clutched in one slightly trembling hand.

no words were shared. eddie just slipped the headphones off his ears, handed the walkman back to richie, and let their shoulders press lightly against one another. that was enough for both of them. the warmth that seeped into his bones from their shared contact made a shiver crawl up richie's spine. in that moment, the warmth of the nicotine running through his veins had dulled in comparison to the high of eddie.

now, richie kept his head down and moved through the halls with purpose, never so much as glancing at the few and far between stragglers that were spread through the halls. only the faint sound of his own name was enough to bring richie's eyes up toward the echo.

eddie was fast walking down the hallway, eyes locked on richie and arms swinging at his sides with purpose. in one hand a comic was tightly clutched, not enough to wrinkle the pages, but enough to let richie know that eddie didn't feel as confident as he looked marching down the hallway.

"richie!" he called, as if the taller boy hadn't already noticed him. the notion was foolish in and of itself, richie could pick eddie out of a crowd with his back turned. the freckled boy descended upon richie, lips parted slightly as he sucked a few rushed breaths from the trek. "i—" he began, words catching in eddie's throat as his sun-warmed eyes trailed up the wide expanse of richie tozier. _fuck_.

"i brought you this. i've seen you reading volume thirty-two for the last two weeks so either you're shit at reading or you didn't have the next one." he was rambling but richie didn't make it through the rest of eddie's rant, the butterflies in his stomach were too busy trying to flutter up through his throat. eddie held a lightly faded volume thirty-three star wars comic in his hand, sky blue pinky showing stark against the muted colors of the comic. richie wanted to frame this moment in time so he would never forget the light flush snaking up eddie's neck and coloring his cheeks. perfection.

"it's faded, it's been sitting in my bedroom for years. i just figured—" eddie finally took a second to suck in a breath and richie took advantage of his momentary lapse, "cool your jets, eds. i have something for you too." he managed to keep his hands from shaking as he moved to pull the tape out of his backpack, which richie counted as a win.

the tape was labeled with a scribbled 'loser' across the front along with a small folded note taped to the back. the note wasn't heartwarming or full of sentiment, but instead a scrawled " _for eddie kaspbrak, from richie tozier_ " that was hardly legible across the crumpled paper.

eddie took it from him without hesitation, eyebrows creased as he stared down at the tape before looking up and locking his eyes with richie's. his lips were parted, but before the words could leave his lips, richie unhooked the headphones from around his neck and slipped the walkman from his belt loop. instead, he slipped the headphones around eddie's neck, gently, and placed the walkman in the side pocket of the boy's backpack.

"you can use mine." richie hummed, stepping back as he breathed in deeply, unaware he had been holding back the instinct upon being so close to eddie. he took the comic the boy still held in his hand and flipped through it, clearing his throat in preparation for a joke to calm the rapid beating of his heart. the pages were indeed faded and for some reason that sent a bolt of warmth straight to richie's heart.

"y'know eds," he cooed, a small sarcastic smirk taking residence upon his face, "generally, when people buy comic books, they want to read them." richie couldn't hold back the bubble of laughter that rose in his chest as he turned the comic to show eddie where some of the pages had faded beyond recognition.

eddie's face burned scarlet and he moved to snatch the comic out of richie's ungrateful hands with a hissed, "that's the last time i try to do something nice for you, tozier, and don't call me that!" fortunately for richie, he was the human embodiment of a tree, and he just held the book above his head and tsked at eddie when he could reach it. he was so immersed in eddie kaspbrak he barely took the time to flinch at his words.

"hey—hey i'm kidding eds," he snickered, clutching the comic to his chest protectively when eddie finally stopped trying to climb him like a jungle gym. "i love it, now i can read this one for the next year," he joked, heart skipping a beat whenever eddie huffed and rolled his eyes, "and the pages that you can't read?" eddie's voice had a strong front but richie could sense the insecurities peeking through, threatening to spill over the edge.

"then we can make that part up. it'll be our story, yeah?"

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

afterward, richie trailed alongside eddie toward his classroom, much to the annoyance of the latter. upon reaching their destination, eddie turned on his heel, mumbled a thank you and slipped inside the classroom, leaving richie with a smile bright enough to combat the sun.

his legs carried him through the endless hallways, not bothering to stop at his classroom. instead, he hummed a tune only he knew, biting his lips with his hands shoved in his pockets. richie's eyes were hazed with the honey glow of eddie kaspbrak.

he flinched when a hand fell roughly upon his shoulder, fingers digging into the clothed skin and yanking him back toward the direction of the boy's bathroom. richie stumbled, trying to catch himself, but was left breathless upon being slammed against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. the fuming figure of one henry bowers loomed over him, causing richie to instinctively shrink in on himself.

"who the fuck do you think you are, tozier?" he hissed, spit flying and landing like daggers against richie's skin, "you're one of _us_. why the fuck were you talking to that fairy?" his words dug deep into richie, so many thoughts of— _he's really not so bad henry. you'd like him if you got to know him. he makes me feel something._

but richie couldn't say those things. no—no not to henry. instead, apologies burned his throat and spewed forth. "i'm sorry hen—i'm sorry i was just—" his words fell flat, unarticulated and unauthentic and henry's glare narrowed as if he could see straight through richie's stumbling lies. perhaps he could.

maybe that's why henry gripped the front of richie's shirt and pushed him back so far into the tiles he cried out. maybe that's why he let a hand fall to the exposed skin of richie's side, where his shirt was hiked up from henry's grip on it. maybe that's why—in an instant—henry's lips descended upon his in a frenzy, _claiming._

_ a/n this is where the assault/realization occurs. please, if this is triggering to you, skip until it is explicitly indicated. _

at first it was as if richie was simply floating by in a dream, out of his body and watching from afar, senses dulled. then, he fell back to earth, chest tightening and a million thoughts racing through his mind at once. rough lips pressed down on his and wandering hands making his skin itch.

_one, two, three.._

"hen—" the words fell from richie's lips in choked gasps, he could hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel the breath leaving his lungs and ceasing to return, "—please." henry's hands kept moving, as if he couldn't hear the desperate cries of the boy writing beneath him, moving his lips down to claim the skin of richie's neck.

_ a/n this is the end of the depicted assault. though this description is not lengthy, it is still valid. please, respect others' decision to skip through. _

_four, five, six.._

suddenly, the scene fell away and everything was engulfed in white. richie no longer felt the treacherous hands of 'love' grasping for further purchase on his skin. instead, he felt the cool embrace of gentle hands and caramel skin. the oddly comforting scent of disinfectant filled his nose and the constellation freckles speckled across eddie's scrunched face. his eyelashes brushed the artwork covering his cheekbones and richie's lips parted in awe.

a heavenly glow surrounded eddie, when he smiled the angels sung. he didn't speak, but all richie needed was the crinkles on the corners of his eyes when he smiled and the sun-kissed tousle of his hair and he was set ablaze. _eddie kaspbrak was a living masterpiece._ richie oh so longed to brush his fingertips across those painted perfections.

eventually, the curtain had to fall and when richie blinked, he was met with the sight of a dully lit bathroom wall across from him. he was alone. all alone and cold and dirty and all he wanted to do was stand up to try scrub away the filth he felt from the inside but everything hurt too much to even do that. so richie sat, legs pulled up protectively to his chest—clothes disheveled and body bruised—as warm tears pooled in his eyes and blurred his vision until all he could see was his own warped reality.

richie's body shook and ached with his sobs. the barren walls echoed his cries and he fell further into himself. yet, even as his body burned all he could think about was how much he loved henry—and how much henry loved him. richie knew henry didn't mean to he just—he loved him so much and sometimes things like this would happen. he understood.

_seven, eight, nine.._

"richie!"

the call of his name sounded so far away, but when he looked up, he saw the familiar face of beverly crowding his vision. her eyebrows were pulled together in a furrow of concern and her lips were pursed in silent anxiousness. the red-head crouched in front of him, hands lingering by her sides as if she was afraid to reach out to him. a sharp lance of pain struck through his body as he moved to better look at her, a wince betraying the humiliation that caused his cheeks to burn scarlet.

"hey, bevvy."

richie's voice sounded small. it was croaky and gravelly and contained none of his usual humor and beverly's heart instantly plummeted down into her stomach. she finally reached for him, hands gently finding the sides of his face and brushing against the slow forming bruises spread across his milky skin.

he flinched, the feel of a foreign touch assaulting his senses with memories he already wished to push away. however, he didn't move her hands away, beverly needed this. beverly needed to be needed.

she brushed the slowly drying blood from his busted lip, wiping the crimson on her shorts in an uncharacteristic disregard for her clothes. "what happened to you, rich?" she asked, but it felt more desperate and deep than he figured it was on the surface. all richie could do was shrug—painfully—and attempt to give her a lopsided grin.

"nothing i didn't deserve."

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

beverly ended up ditching the rest of school and dragging richie toward her house, since she knew her father would be away at work for the remainder of the day. the task was simple enough, but the execution was all the more difficult. richie wasn't normally a light and nimble person, but upon becoming a walking, gaping wound, he became much more of a challenge to escort. beverly never once complained about the extra ten minutes it took to help richie limp toward her house, nor would she. beverly marsh understood the hazy gleam that overtook richie's eyes and the faraway mentality that encapsulated him. yes, she understood that better than anyone.

eventually she managed to move him to sit down in the bathtub, taking her time to gently remove his outer articles of clothing, save the boxers that hung loosely on hips. all the while whispering to him softly, asking if he was alright, if he wanted her to stop, that she loved him. he didn't respond, but that was okay. she understood.

beverly wet a rag with warm water and tenderly scrubbed the whole of richie's body, cleaning off every speck of dried blood and _him_ that she could. ever so carefully, she moved her way up the inside of richie's thighs, keeping her eyes on him and watching for any signs of discomfort as she washed away the physical traces of what henry left of him.

after she had finished and was rinsing the rag, she felt richie's trembling fingers lightly grip her hand and she looked toward him, only to find his morning sky eyes gleaming with unshed tears. her heart cracked and her bottom lip trembled, but she laced their fingers together anyway.

"bev—" he stumbled, words quietly and barely coherent, but she heard them, she always heard him, "—it hurts, bev." his voice broke at the end and a sob wracked richie's body, tears falling freely down his face and landing with a soft _plop_ against the floor of the bathtub. beverly, who already had moved to sit in the tub across from him, let out her own fit of sobs, biting her lip in a vain attempt to keep herself composed.

the attempt was futile and instead beverly moved forward, wrapping her arms around her best friend and pulling him close against her chest. she ran her fingers through his hair with one hand and brushed soothing patterns against his back with the other, all while mumbling comforting words into his ear. "i know, sweetheart. i know, it hurts. i love you. i love you so fucking much, rich." her words were garbled by the tears, but richie heard them. richie heard them and he cried harder, because what had he done to deserve the love of a girl like beverly marsh?

the pair stayed like that for hours, wrapped up in one another and crying loudly—then silently.

until beverly broke the silence, richie was listening to the comforting rhythm of her heartbeat. "when i see him," she began, tongue darting out to wet her lips, the taste of salty tears prevalent, "i'm going to kill him, richie." her words were quiet but the emotion behind them was unabashed. "he's never going to come near you again, you hear me? ever." her voice held a certainty that richie was unused to hearing and it made him shiver.

"i love him, bev."

he couldn't help it. henry was his port in the storm, his protector, and his closest confidant. he was also his abuser, his darkest secret, and his achilles heel. he saw the concern in beverly's eyes as she held him, the parting of her lips as if she wished to shake him from his reverie.

"i love _him_ too rich, but that doesn't mean they can hurt us. we deserve more."

then the silence overtook them and if richie clutched beverly a little tighter after that, it was nobody's business but their own.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

later that night, hidden in the shadows of beverly's closet, as to not alert her father of his presence, richie held a small flashlight in one hand and his tattered comic book with the other. his bright scanned the faded pages with a bleary gaze. his fingertips brushed the pages delicately, as if the book would tear with just the slightest touch. the pages made his mind echo with thoughts of eddie—impassioned and kind.

those thoughts are the ones that lulled richie to sleep, drawing him deeper into unconsciousness. his vision swam with thoughts of eddie's amber eyes—playful and wide. _i want you to want me_ hummed softly in their ears and richie clasped eddie's hands in his own, their soft swaying in sync to the gentle music in the background. eddie's skin was warm against richie's hands and he felt lighter than he ever had before. the soft echo of his own name fell upon his ears like a song, drifting gently around them as it echoed.

" _richie.. richie.. richie.."_


End file.
